JMJ
Chapter Five
Insurance Policies
Mojo Jojo's Saturday morning evil laugh faded like a memory over a wistful moment, but the face of Xylon Ex was as untouched by it as a steel wall to a butterfly kiss. The meeting he had just had with such a creature of both serendipity and calamity had been like having a conversation with a child's stuffed animal.
Ex, like many adults who liked to play their own grownup games, had zero tolerance for children and much less had he tolerance for childlike minds. Childish minds were a different matter. Childishness could be manipulated but childlike was a special type of clarity. It was the thing that made fairies come to life. One might argue that Mojo Jojo was both childish and childlike, but that childlike quality got under Ex's skin like cancer in the epidermis.
The genius of Mojo purely by mental capacity was astounding, of course, but his psychology and emotional balance was that of less than some grade-schoolers he had known. Of course, he was an animal.
Would the world be different if all the animals possessed sentient thought…?
At last Ex blinked, and it had been a long while since Mojo's voice had disappeared. He shrugged. That question was better left for Aesop and Carroll or at least an interview with Townsville's notorious Talking Dog. What Ex needed now was a way to play this emerald-skinned, scientific accident of a pixie goblin at his own game.
Ex no longer looked like a harmless academic. He looked like a ruthless leader and a leader with a plan for those subordinate to him. He had rarely been a strict leader when everything went his way, but the time had come, apparently. It was time to organize all that he had ever possessed.
Still as erect as a post, Ex reached out his hand to lift a secret panel under his desk. Hidden beneath it was a button that scanned his finger print for identity. There was a musical hum. Then quite suddenly the floor gave way in a perfect circle where he stood. Down into a tube he went— vanishing like a wizard without smoke and mirrors. The hole sealed instantly back up again as though he had never existed, but down Ex continued with the speed of water down a drain.
He remained as perfectly composed as the White Rabbit down a rabbit hole. He even had time to check his watch and take out a computer pad to go over some files of his notes and journals as the air took him along in a safe cylindrical compartment along the tube. He was like a vampire in a coffin— a message in a bottle. He took out a cell phone and called someone from his office. Then he called a different building, and it was the building he was dropped off in. The sealed compartment suddenly stopped by the time he flipped his phone back into a pocket, and then with a hiss of steam he emerged like an alien from a UFO back on the mother ship.
If only he was an alien it might make his humanity make a little more sense, but he was fully human genetically… unlike the creatures he created.
The lab was a vast dome— the most secret of all labs in Townsville and the amount of secret labs in Townsville was more than one might think. It was secured by not only the best security tech, but also by a crew of carefully chosen minions who worked for Ex. About a dozen at least.
He had tubes of various types of X for every occasion, all constantly monitored as they changed or remained the same. There were databases kept everything on file for each instant X was used. Most of the work was his own, but he carefully monitored what he did know about Pr. Utonium's, Mojo Jojo's, and even the Powerpuff Girls' own private dabbles. He had alerts for whenever it was used or tampered with within the city limits. He was driven. He was obsessed. He was practically possessed by the spirit or "muse" as he called it, of Chemical X.
At the moment they were working on a Chemical X-induced maple leaf with one of the many variants of X he had concocted, but as the workers diligently hovered over their screens without touching the leaf in question, quivering about in containment of its own free will, one worker noticed Ex come in from a catwalk. He quickly scurried down like a mouse from a cat lingering on that walk with him, except that he was running right into a much more savage predator than even the most ruthless of toms.
"Ah! Pr. Ex!" he said. "You've arrived at last."
"Yes, the ride was a little sluggish," admitted Ex glancing again at his watch and tapping it. "Fifteen seconds slow to be exact, but never mind that. I want all the loose subjects located."
"All of them?" asked the lackey rubbing his hands together.
"Located, yes, but there are only a few I wish to bring up first. I want you personally, Soppe, to organize my grants for X-sturdy metal."
"How much?"
"As much as can be found, Soppe," said Ex gravely.
Soppe winced but nodded. "Yes, Sir! I'll do both, Sir."
"See that it's secret. Use all the aliases. No one can know we're obtaining this metal, and we need Townsville to be completely occupied with other things for the time being, which is why I need to find all the loose subjects."
Soppe gasped. "Is it time for the truly unfortunate, last resort, Operation Termination? It hasn't been tested, you know. We may not be able to destroy any of them."
"No, no, stupid!" said Ex. "I just need them for distractions."
"For what exactly?"
Ex did not answer.
"Ah, I see," said Soppe. "A special secret sort of experiment. Well, you are the genius here."
"Am I?" demanded Ex stopping suddenly and turning to Soppe with dagger eyes.
Soppe gulped and squirmed like wet noodles were suddenly in his shirt.
Ex had demanded with such power it was as though Zeus had taken command of his clouds, and everyone within the god's domain stopped instantly what they were doing and turned to the master. The silence was the tight stillness between lightning and thunder, but in the end Ex simply shrugged.
"Oh! Get me GAS X-21: G1, G2, G3, G4, and G5."
"They're no longer in existence, Sir," said Soppe.
Ex frowned.
"Oh, no wait!" said Soppe. "That's Graffiti-Adolescence-Street X-19's G1, 2, 3, and 4 I was thinking of. I was wondering why you mentioned a fifth." He paused and shook his head. "But what do you want them for? I thought you were done with them since the chemical food incident and even more so since they were duped by your… er, ex-employee."
Ex crossed his arms defiantly.
"They'll still be useful for a distraction. Something to really make their heads swirl for not knowing who wants that metal and why— without pointing to either myself or the little pet monkey."
#
"Okay…" said Ace leaning idly against the doorframe of his shack.
The leader of the Gangreen Gang tapped his sharp chin. His expression could not be told completely with his eyes shielded in the wee hours by a pair of shades reflecting the distant lights supposedly guarding the junkyard from hoodlums such as him. Even a dog barking in the distance seemed to suggest more measures, but then those in charge did know the circumstances of a certain Big Billy taming the junkyard dog anymore than the gang members understood it.
At the moment the rest of the gang were watching warily behind their alpha with shifty wide eyes and slouched (or crouched) somewhat as though in preparation for any sort of fight or flight situation— or maybe just a flick of a finger from Ace to sic the guy he was speaking with. Their faces were pretty much blank enough for any outcome, except for Grubber who looked like he either might start laughing or panting with his tongue held in place, but he showed little sign of alarm. He felt none from his boss yet.
"…Lemme get this straight," Ace said. "You want us to get this metal, dump it in our yard here and you take it all secret-like… and then you'll give us actual cash like a criminal commission sort of thing and some of it upfront."
The eyes of the gang went to the motionless Ace, back to the stranger, and then round once more to Ace as he asked what was pretty much on their minds.
"So where's the upfront cash?"
The man before them was for the first time since he arrived not so confident in his posture. He had a second man with him who was doubtlessly strong, but he was no Big Billy. They were both clad in black fedoras and trenches, but their shades were nothing to Ace's sharp style. It was as if the very glint of those shades were beginning to daunt them, but the first and the shorter of the two nondescript underworlders could only mutter sullenly, "So you agree?"
"Mmm, I dunno," Ace teased the would-be hirers as he lifted his head just a little on a tilt. He knew his yard well enough to know how his shades would pick up enough light now to glow as two white lights themselves, and he shoved his hands into his vest coat pockets. "First I kinda wanna see this upfront money, y'know? For insurance. If this is gunna be professional and all."
The larger of the two whispered something in the shorter one's ear. The shorter snorted but nodded in agreement before revealing from some hidden pocket on the inside of his shapeless coat a classic sack of dollars sealed with the insurance of a dollar sign printed on the side.
Hardly had the shorter man's hand stopped moving when Ace snatched the sack with a predatory appetite. His pinkish eyes shone behind the shades as they slipped just a little by the action to reveal the gleam of a boy in Candy Land before the shades slipped back into place. He opened the bag, stuck his head in, and felt the greenbacks with his fingers before picking some up a little to flutter just enough for his subordinates to see. Their faces brightened with the same twisted cheer.
"So?" asked the shorter man.
Ace tossed the bag to Arturo, who caught it with a broadening grin almost too big for his face.
"'So' what?" asked Ace.
"Are you going to do it? Remember. One sack like this for each week the metal comes as agreed."
"Sure, we'll do it, guys!" said Ace with a careless shrug. "On one more condition…"
"And what condition is that?" the shorter man almost whined.
"Insurance!" Ace said simply.
"But I thought the upfront cash was the insurance!"
"Nah!" said Ace.
"Then we'll take our money back!" said the larger man.
The gang looked at the two men in disbelief, looked at each other, and then laughed. Ace leaned more idly against the doorframe than before and smirked from ear to ear. When he parted his lips he was the Cheshire Cat of punk attitude.
"Tch! You're gunna have to take that up with Big Billy here, fellas," Ace chuckled.
Big Billy pouted as he turned to the nondescripts; he was quite descript as anyone who knew him understood, and that description was best conveyed at the moment by the idea of a human wrecking ball.
"Big Billy says you gave to gang, so you try to take it is… uh bad stealing."
"Right!" chirped Ace. "So unless you wanna try to steal from the Gangreen Gang on Gangreen Turf, you might just wanna am-scray, got it?"
"But you said—" protested the larger man, but his smaller companion held up his stiff hand and frowned with his square chin tightening.
"What's the insurance policy?" asked the smaller man.
"Safe passage," Ace said.
"What?"
"If you can assure us that there ain't no Powerpuff Girls to worry about," Ace said with grave seriousness despite the grin still plastered there, "you get your metal, plus a little weight taken out of you wallets with all those suspicious money sacks."
"But—"
"No Powerpuff insurance, no Gangreen commissions."
The others agreed in a haphazard fashion, but the sentiment was unison.
"Can we come back in a few minutes?" asked the smaller man.
"Only if you have that insurance policy when you come back," mocked Ace, and he slammed the door shut.
There were a few moments of silence as the two men blinked stupidly at the door. The only sounds were distant traffic and the scurrying of trash vermin. Then suddenly, the smaller man picked up a cell phone, flipped it open to a speed-dial number. When the line was answered, he said in a hushed voice, "They want insurance."
Pause.
"No, about the Puffs."
Pause.
"You sure?"
Another pause.
"Well, okay then. If you're sure."
Immediately after the call was over the shorter man left his taller companion still looking rather bewildered, and clearing his throat he knocked upon the door.
Instantaneously, Ace opened it with a shrill squeak of the hinges.
"Well!" he sneered. "Back already, huh?" He turned his head back inside. "Hey boys, ready to play pop the weasel in the trash heap?"
"Pthzzth-ftthzzpz!"
"Oh, yeah, back-game-in," Ace exclaimed. "Haven't had backs in the trash heap big enough for that lately."
"Oh, yessss! It'ssss been agesss"
"Oh, boy, Billy like games!"
"How 'bout—" Arturo tried.
"Wait!" said the man before the gang could pick out what best to play with the trespassers. "We can have it all done for you before tomorrow afternoon."
"You two. The pair of you. You'll get rid of the Powerpuff Girls so we can steal metal for you?" laughed Ace.
"Yes."
Wiping a tear from his eye, Ace said, "Well, at least you'll save us the trouble of beating the snot out of you, cuz those cute little Powerpuffs sure'll leave you without much stuffing left."
"But! If we do make sure they're occupied, you'll do it?" pleaded the man.
"Yeah, sure!" said Ace highly amused by the whole procedure, but more than amused the man could see that Ace was curious— more curious than he probably should have been.
This probably was one of the oddest things to have happened to him in his short existence as gang leader. Maybe it was not as glamorous as some things he'd seen, but the absurdity of this was novel. It did not take a master psychologist to understand Ace's boredom of life. He was smart and wasted his melting brain in his primitive lifestyle, which would have been too easy for him if it weren't for the Powerpuff Girls. Then again that was no competition for his gang and that in itself left his brain rather thirsting and his body bruised without mental compensation. It was the intrigue the shorter man had been hoping for. It was the curiosity of a cat unable to resist a sudden feather on a string he had never seen before.
Ace had to know. He had to. Pr. Ex had been counting on it. Ace was more an animal of pure instinct than Mojo Jojo.
#
"To clear the path for the hordes, we must reach outside our sphere," said Ex to a man with the classy penmanship writing away with the most luxurious quill pen and the richest black ink. "She's not even a Subject Utonium, but she has dabbled, and I know how to get those girls out of the picture faster than any beast of X…"
"It is finished, Pr. Ex," exclaimed the posh writer from his desk.
"Excellent. Send it off to her little majesty."